The Threat of Chronos
by mariekiki50
Summary: A teenager decides to travel back in time, with the aim to change the course of unprecedented events that occurred during the National Holiday in 2012. This journey is going to lead her to live intense experiences, and to confront things she was unaware of the extent. At her expense, she will understand that nothing is as simple as it seems.


_"There's not such a beautiful picture than the scene of a family."– Jean-Jacques Rousseau._

The young woman sighed.

She has been looking through the window for a long time all that was going on – even if it was not really interesting – absent-mindedly, so far away from the real world. She did not know how much time she has been in this sluggish state – and she did not care about it at all, anyway – but she vaguely remembered that soon, it would be time to dinner; by the way, she could smell spicy fragrances floating in the air, proving she was right. She could not even remember what was on the menu, but it did not matter, to be honest. She gave a lock of her golden hair behind her ears, more tired than ever. She could have said she wasn't very hungry, since it was the truth, after all, but it was just not reasonable, for a young lady like her, with the fame she had, people would have thought bad things about her, then. Emotions were assailing her. For a moment, she closed her eyes and let herself dream.

So, in this case, what was reasonable?

It was a question she had often asked herself, to be honest, but all the same, she had never found a valid answer. During all these years, she had never stopped to question herself and to do some soul-searching. Of course, she had behaved in the most honest way with the others, in the fairest way possible. Nevertheless, did it mean that she was irreproachable? She slowly opened her eyes. Of course not. She was sure to be able to improve on many things. She just wanted people's happiness, no more than that. She had always done her utmost to achieve it. However, if things had been different, perhaps it would not have been the case. She smiled gently. What was she complaining about? She was happy: she had a family, a job, and all these things that anyone had always dreamed of having. Indeed, she lived in a huge mansion, and she had many people to keep her company.

Yet, for some time, she has been tense. She was unable to be serene, knowing what will happen soon; how she had hoped that there would be no more problems! She had imagined herself finally living in peace, quiet, but she had been wrong. She had wished so much that it would never happen! She did not feel ready, for _that_. The rays of the setting sun dazzled her somewhat, while groups of pedestrians were laughing, walking on the streets. All has been planned, and yet she did not have the courage to bear this situation, it was rather strange – maybe because she had already lived this kind of moment, before. Probably. She was not the sort to be fearful, but currently, she was especially afraid that something went wrong. Her fingers clutched with strength the fabric of her dress, and she tried to stay as calm as she could, even if a salty substance called 'tear' began to dangerously beading at the corner of her eyes.

"Honey?"

She turned her head, slightly surprised. This sweet voice… It was him! She would never get tired of hearing him. They have been together for at least several years. Moreover, he knew to make her happy as nobody else was able to do it. This was the reason why they got married, last year. She stifled a chuckle recalling the festivities – it had been quite something! Especially as he absolutely had been keen on doing things according to the rulebook. Fortunately, everything had ended well, and it had been a wonderful day for her. She looked at her wedding ring. She could really tell she had had everything she had wished for, these last years. However, recently, she was not in the mood to think about the good memories. She did care about what would happen soon: it frightened her. She raised her head and looked at her husband, trying to smile as sincerely as possible; but she knew when she saw his face that she had not convinced him at all. She blinked and suppressed a nervous laugh. Of course, she could not hide anything from him, not that kind of details, in any case: they were _married_ , after all! To be completely honest, she admired his calm temperament. How could he be so quiet given the circumstances? Maybe that in the end, she was the only one to worry so much. Yes, maybe. She had already been told she sometimes tended to take things too seriously, here was the trouble.

"Honey..." the man repeated coming closer to her, and drying with his forefinger the tears that were breading at the corner of her eyes, "It's all right, I'm here. There will be no problem, I promise you. I'll always be there to protect you."

"I'm really sorry," she whispered while he was hugging her. "I didn't want you to worry."

She let herself be lulled by the sweet fragrance of her husband's perfume. She felt so good in his arms! She wished this moment would have lasted forever. He had always been there when she had needed the most, and without him, perhaps she would not be alive anymore. She owed him so much! She had never stopped to be indebted to him for all that he had done. His presence made her feel so good, it was kinda like if he had given her his strength to help her to face up to the challenges that were awaiting her, or rather, that were awaiting _them_. She would not be the only one to suffer the consequences, overall. Yet, she was clearly more sensitive than her husband was on this matter; was it simply because she was a woman? It could be an argument, yes. She tightened up her embrace. She did not wish this hug to stop. She needed to know he was by her side. She had known many more difficult moments, in her life, and she had overcome them quite well, so why did she feel so helpless only now? It made no sense. Then, she had nothing to regret in her life, about the choices she had made in her life; it had allowed her to be sincerely happy. However, she was afraid that this happiness was taken away from her all of a sudden and she found herself back again alone, without anyone by her side to cheer her up. These last nights, she had hardly slept, and the frequency of her nightmares had increased significantly.

"You know," he said quietly moving away from her, "we still have some time, before it happens."

"I know," she replied, lowering her gaze "I know. I… I will get used to it, don't worry. After all, we don't really have a choice, do we?"

"We will get through this together," he said, looking into her eyes, a smile on his face.

"Thanks for everything, really. Without you, I don't know what I–"

The young woman did not finish her sentence, because, at that time, a noise interrupted her. In the big white cradle situated near her, the baby until now deeply asleep had finally woken up and had let his parents know it. The two grow-ups – who were almost about to kiss – give each other a knowing look, before bursting out laughing. On the face of it, they would have to wait a little longer before they can fully show their affection one another: a child did not wait. The husband laid a soft kiss on his lover's lips and looked into her eyes for a long time before tenderly putting back a lock of hair of the young woman and moving towards the cradle with a graceful gait, leaning over to try quite awkwardly to calm down the newborn, slowly waving the cradle. His wife watched him, with a smile. He always was touchingly awkward when he was taking care of the toddler. He had even confessed to her, one day, that he was jealous of her; it was true she had had the opportunity to take care of babies when she was younger. Having said that, she did not think she had a better "maternal instinct" than other mothers in the whole world. However, despite the attempts of the man, the baby continued to bawl. After a few moments, with a resigned look, he turned to his wife, who was watching the scene, in amusement. He desperately seemed to need help.

"I think you should play her a tune," he said embarrassed, waving a case he held in his hand. "You're the only one who knows how to calm her down, in that case," he confessed, ashamed.

She looked at him, at first surprised by the presence of the case she had not noticed until now, before bursting out laughing then. He had not changed; he had always remained faithful to himself, despite the time passing by. With his hand in his hair, he really looked childish. Yet, he had had to face threats a lot more terrible than calming a child! Having said that, during his marriage proposal, he had nonetheless been shy. In a way, it was his charm. To think that she had nearly missed someone like him! Fortunately, it had not been the case. He had been there at the right moment, at least it was this way she considered things. She had been counting the days since they had met. They had been together for exactly five years, five months, one day and twenty-two hours, five minutes and thirty-seven seconds. Well, rather thirty-eight, now. This kind of memory could not be forgotten.

 _What would have happened, if they had never met?_

"Okay, I'll help; you look like you need it."

She stood up gracefully from the soft armchair in which she had been sitting so far. With a light step, she stepped forward towards the cradle and touched with her forefinger the forehead of the crying baby. It opened his eyes – it really had those of its parents – and immediately stopped crying, surprised. Even her husband was surprised that she could calm this child so easily; he had never been really good to do so, he had to acknowledge it. She replaced carefully the embroidered sheets on the baby, while the man was slowly coming closer to her, holding the black case out to her. She took it, not without a certain emotion, and put it on a small table nearby, before carefully pushing the two silver buttons that kept it closed, her heart beating more loudly in her chest.

The case opened, revealing in its midst a violin designed in the purest wood, with a bow and a bit of maintenance equipment. It was a Stradivarius, and beyond the nobility that this prestigious name could give to the instrument, it was also distinguished by a strange symbol carved into the wood, and which seemed at first sight to symbolize a sun or a moon, followed by a pyramid and finally a star. At first glance, this mark seemed quite mysterious; it was difficult to find any meaning to it, and yet, it was obvious that she was not due to a damage the wood had sustained, but rather as a decoration, as if it represented something important, the seal of some ancient civilization as the ancient Mesopotamia, but the link was very difficult to do.

The musician dreamfully glanced at the instrument – nobody could imagine the value he had for her – and carefully put the shoulder rest on it. She took the violin out of the case, and placed it on her collarbone, then took the bow. She gently rubbed the strings of the violin and the bow together, turning several times the tuning pegs at the end of the instrument to ensure everything was ready so that she could play. Once everything was checked, she took a deep breath and began to play, a music score that she knew by heart and that she played without hesitation. This simple melody reminded her of so many memories! Letting the bow rub on the strings, she applied to play each note perfectly, her eyes closed, and her mind carried away by the rhythm of the music, which resounded with strength in the spacious room. The violinist was both concentrated and relaxed, and her flowing way of playing was just amazing to hear. Her husband was filled with admiration for her, while the baby was happily babbling in its cradle. The music stopped little by little filling the room, in a decrescendo that resounded in rhythm with the beats of her heart. When the song was over, she took off the violin from her shoulder, and the applause from her lover made her face go pink. Yet, he was used to hearing her play, wasn't he? And despite everything, he would compliment her every time. And what touched her the most was that he was sincere.

"It was beautiful, my angel. You really have a divine gift for music."

"Thank you," she replied with a smile. "But I don't particularly deserve praise, actually. I know Moon–"

"Madam?"

A newcomer had quietly knocked at the door of the living-room and was standing in the door frame, stiff as a ramrod, his hands behind his back and his lines already drawn by time. He was wearing a dark uniform, showing that he was a servant of the house, and his greying hair had been combed carefully. He had been working in the house for a very long time, and he was one of the most loyal and most devoted butlers. One had also to mention that he was an excellent bodyguard. He was very respected here.

"Yes, what is it, Alfred?"

"Please forgive my interruption, but Her Grace bides you come. She wants to talk to you as soon as possible."

She had a brief movement of surprise and immediately turned towards her spouse, worried. He gave her a reassuring smile while childishly adjusting the collar of his shirt. He didn't need words to communicate with her. He knew what she was thinking of even though she had not told him anything, and it was magical. As far back as he could remember, this link had always existed between them. In his whole life, he had never been so sure he wanted to spend his entire life with someone. Just because it was _her._

"Go ahead, I'll take care of the baby."

"Very well. In this case, I'm going; see you later."

She put down her instrument in the case that she left ajar, and carefully dusted off her long blue silk dress before silently following the employee through the long and wide corridors of the house; they all looked the same. She was unaware of what her mother wanted to say to her. Did it have a link with some... events that were planned? Yes, it probably did. Alfred was not very talkative, making the situation more confused. There was only the sound of the two persons to be heard, even if a few servants were still working in this huge mansion. After they walked for some minutes, the butler finally stopped his mistress in front of a large wooden door and discreetly knocked several times. Inside, a resonant voice made itself hear, inviting them to come in. The two adults indeed entered the room, which was actually a huge office, furnished with taste. The floor was wooden. After the young woman entered, Alfred slowly closed the door behind her. Sat at a secrétaire, her silvery hair pulled in a relatively strict bun, and wearing a long burgundy dress with gloves, a refined lady who should be in her late fifties was looking at some documents, concerned. She warmly smiled nevertheless when she saw the newcomer, and pointed out the chair in front of her in order she sat; the young woman complied.

"You asked for me, Mother?"

"Yes, I did, my dear. I wanted to tell you that most of the details were resolved. There are still some points to evoke at the dinner, but I saw the essential with Raphael."

She abruptly gave a start at the mention of this name. It reminded her of so many memories! A few seconds slowly went by, fatefully. She bit her lip, annoyed, even if she had expected such a remark. Did they really have to talk about this _now_? Basically, she was not sure to have the courage to do it. She did not have the strength to raise the subject with him, so with her mother? It was not better either, quite the reverse. The latter vaguely glanced at the large pile of papers laying on a corner of the secrétaire, and her hands formed a pyramid under her chin, until she went on, while watching her interlocutor right in the eyes. She absolutely needed her to pay attention, even if it was not necessarily easy to talk about this topic, delicate to say the least.

"I thought it was wise to inform you as soon as possible…"

"Mother, please, may we put this discussion off until the dinner, please? It would be better to me.

A new oppressive silence took over; Alfred had a bit of a cough, while the mother of the young girl was staring at her worryingly. Lately, the young woman had not been perfectly healthy. She seemed quite worried and nervous, and her mother didn't know what to say to reassure her. At the same time, knowing the extent of the sacrifice she was asked to do, what could be said? Herself had gone through that, once; she knew what one could feel. She was the only one who was able to understand her daughter. And she knew that in such a situation, there was, alas, not much to do. There would just have to… live with it, hoping that it would not last too long. And so much time could pass by, period in between, that was probably the worst; she perfectly knew it. Herself could hardly bear the idea of reliving such a thing, but not to do it would have been madness. Everything was ready, it was not conceivable to shrink back. She leaned her head, still looking at her daughter look, making her colourful earrings start by this movement.

"You look concerned to me, Marie. Are you sure you will be fine?"

"Don't worry; I was just thinking about certain things. Moreover, it's only a formality to pass, I guess. After all, you did the same thing for me, didn't you?

"In fact, I know what it implies," admitted her mother, nodding. "But I didn't know we would come to that."

Marie looked away, watching the landscape out the window. A plane in the sky was leaving a characteristic white trail behind him far away, she recognized the Eiffel Tower. Yes, it was true, nobody had ever suspected to reach such a level, but now, that was the case, and it should be done with. Her only consolation was that everything had been carefully prepared as agreed, and therefore there was not supposed to be any problem. A slight sigh, accompanied by a warm tear rolling down her cheek, escaped her lips. Where was the teenager so optimistic that she used to be? Since when had she definitively left the world of youthful innocence that characterized her, to get into the one of the harsh and cruel reality of adults? She suppressed a smile. The betrayal of her cousin Jean-François, at that time, should have played a part, and even a large part. This was probably at that time that she had started to stop being naïve, to become more mature. And now, there she was.

Her mother accepted without the slightest objection putting the conversation off until, because it did not change many things, basically. The two women still discussed for a little while, and then Marie eventually stood up to leave the room. Duchess Elisabeth let her daughter know that she would join her later, for she still had some papers to deal with. In truth, it would not have been a bad idea that her mother asked Marie to stay with her, as she had the task, as the daughter of the Duchess, to take over from her. Alfred could help her for all that concerned business, but he could not take decisions in its place. Except that given the circumstances, it was not perhaps the right time to bother the young woman with that kind of responsibilities; also, Elisabeth gave up on this idea. Alfred opened the door to Marie who walked out of the office quietly and gracefully, and he closed the door behind her, then casting a worried look to the Duchess, who shrugged her shoulders as a sign of helplessness. She could not do anything, even with all the influence she could have on the Parisian high society. There were pains that only time could cure. They should not make things worse more than they already were. All they can do for the moment was to wait, even if this situation could give a person the feeling of being terribly helpless, sometimes.

The violinist went along the large corridors again, finally returning to the living room, which was furnished with taste and whose wallpaper was both sober and elegant. When she entered, he was always there, watching over the baby who was moving about under the sheets, and he had a bright smile when he saw her, a smile she gave him back immediately, noticing that his hazel eyes were sparkling with intensity. She stepped forward, and the rays of the setting sun enlightened her face. The temperature was nice: a fire was burning in the fireplace installed in a corner of the room. Marie walked towards the cradle, while Raphael was maliciously adjusting his glasses. Seeing the young woman, the baby moved about again in its bed, demanding her to take it her arms, and the musician did so while laughing. The toddler curled up against her chest, and she felt his small fingers touch her skin, which made her trembling with happiness. She smiled, slightly turned her head and gently called Raphael, even though she would have had no need to do it because he had already come up to them and wrapped his arms around them, she and the baby. It was on times like this that she felt really well. So far in her life, she had never had any reason to be unhappy, so she would keep her spirits up. She had people she could count on, after all. And she would be forever grateful to them.

A bit later, the Duchess arrived with Alfred, to dinner. While servants were bustling to set the table, her daughter suggested her to that take the infant, and Elisabeth accepted with pleasure. Tomorrow, she would also be the one who would take care of it, because the couple would not be here, but at work. The young woman took again the baby to give it his meal and change it for the night. Although it was a bit reluctant at the beginning, it soon fell asleep once he found again the comfort of its cradle. Meanwhile, at the table, the adults discussed the matters that were currently concerning them. Raphael could not help to take discreetly the hand of his wife, and he felt instantly that the latest looked more serene, which reassured him. After the meal, Elisabeth left the two lovers alone and asked Alfred to help her about some urgent papers which she still had to deal with. Her husband asked Marie to waltz with him, and she did not hesitate a second. The dance ended with a sweet kiss lit by the rays of the moon, that the baby's crying did not disturb this time.

Everything would be fine, now.

* * *

"Are you sure of that?"

"Yes, I am. Sure and certain."

A long and oppressive silence took over between the two men. They stared at each other for a moment. They did not look alike, physically as well as mentally, which did not seem to prevent the fact they seemed to know each other well. The place where they were was quite dark, and there were other people around. It was cold, and the air was paradoxically wet and dusty. One of them annoyingly adjusted his glasses on his nose, while the other looked absentmindedly around him. Many other conversations could be heard, and he was able to discern a few snatches. He rubbed his eyes, looking tired. He had to get up early, this morning, because he had had a lot of matters to solve, and his body was beginning to make him feel exhausted. He made circles with his head, trying to relax his tensed neck, but it was a lost cause. His interlocutor brutally brought him back to reality. The curly tips of his hair were bleaching, his features showed his old age, he had an appearance that could really scare you when you did not know him – in fact, you were afraid of even when you knew him. He was famous, in the city, but not for the good reasons; for that matter, he was treated as someone quite different from the others, here… And there again, it was not in the good sense of the word. Even if his piercing blue eyes seemed to be flashing, he was always like that when he was not satisfied with something.

"And what are they intend to do, now?

"I don't know. I think they sense something."

"We need to get it back, as soon as possible!"

The other sighed, exhausted. He was tired of hearing this both hysterical and violent tone of voice – and yet, he had been used to hear it a lot of time. He had been coming here regularly – but not that much – for… about seven years now, even a little more. He did not have the opportunity to come as much as he wanted to. He should be the most discreet possible, the other was still alive, after all, even if he finally seemed to have stopped his searches for some time. Had he eventually understood that it was useless? Good point. He looked at his interlocutor, who was still fulminating, his face nearly being scarlet, and the corner of his lips moved imperceptibly in what appeared to be similar to a smile. All these years. All these years, and he had never changed, even a little. At the same time, in light of the situation in which one he was… it was understandable. That being said, he had perfectly known the risks, at that time. Some people had to pay the price for it, had not they? Well, he did not need to worry too much: soon, he would be taken out of there; at least, that was the plan. Oddly enough, he seemed so sure at that point, while usually, he was so self-confident. It was this fault that had led him to fail in the past. Obviously, try to make understand that to someone who was so hot-blooded, it was a bit early to talk about success. Yet, he really had to keep quiet; make a fuss would not arrange anything, although the situation already hardly looked bright for them.

"Calm down," he said, slightly raising his hands. "I'll take care of it."

"You will? In addition to being incompetent, you're a coward. What can you do?"

"I'm _careful_ ," dryly corrected his interlocutor. "And I will have to solve this problem anyway because you don't have the possibility to do anything."

The person concerned grunted, annoyed. It was right. Currently, his position was not glorious at all, and it had been this way for years, while instead, there were some others who…! He violently slammed his hand on the table in front of him. There were some others who let everyone know about their happiness! It was deeply unfair. He desperately wanted to remedy this, but he had to admit that, in the current situation, he could never do anything only by himself. And in recent years, he had terribly suffered. He could not stand to live in such a situation. That day, all should have gone like clockwork, they had been about to achieve their goal! But eventually, everything had turned wrong, and the only way to fix that was to get a move on and to get it back. This way, perhaps they would – even surely – have a chance to succeed! They could at least turn the situation around. And they absolutely had to. This was their only way out. Otherwise, everything would be lost forever. Then there was no need to get angry. Angrily, he tapped his nails against the edge of the table and tried to not get carried along by his emotions. He bit his lip, while his partner was impassively looking at him. Oh, it was not the first time that he was being called a coward or an incompetent by his "colleague", of course not. And like an idiot, he had accepted to help him again. It was tiresome.

"Well," he went on. "Be patient, I take care of everything. You're lucky that _he_ doesn't have a grudge against you."

"Yeah, I know, thank you."

"In fact," the man confessed, "I have to tell you it's not–".

"Time's up, Sir."

The adult turned around in surprise. A prison warder had put a friendly but firmly hand on his shoulder, and it was better not to annoy those type of people, otherwise, it could go wrong. What a shame, he had not had time to tell everything he wanted to his acolyte, but he could still do it next time. He nodded and thanked the prison warder before he turned back towards his interlocutor who looked at him coldly and put an apologetic hand on the wall in plexiglass which separated them. He then took his hand away and hung up the phone on the wall base, under the watchful eye of the prison ward who saw him out. While someone else was taking his seat, he went across a corridor full of prison warders and made his way to the exit, which he left, and found himself out in the open. It should be around four o'clock in the afternoon. He stretched out for a long time, running his hand through his hair that was already a mess. Some people who came from the opposite direction to enter the building looked at him strangely, whispering to each other in a low voice. It should be because of the worn clothes he was wearing and his neglected appearance, that he drew attention to him. He shrugged. It did not matter; he did not care about what people thought about him. Moreover, he had another appointment that was planned, this afternoon, there was no way he missed it. For that reason, he had to hurry up. He returned to his car parked in a nearby car park, got into and turned the ignition on before he went into first.

He left the La Santé Prison in the East of the Montparnasse district, and the fourteenth arrondissement of Paris to move a little closer to the embankment of the Seine. Traffic was heavy, and he took a long time before arriving in the area where he had an appointment, on the other bank of the Seine, at a coffee shop not far from Washington Avenue. After he put up with the usual traffic jams and traffic lights that had passed the word around to turn red today, he parked astride on the pavement and promptly got out of the vehicle. There were crowds in the streets like every day for that matter. Parisian life could be very stressful sometimes, and although he had been living in this city for many years, he had tried to live with this permanent bustle more than actually getting used to it. He waited for the traffic light to turn green to be able to use the zebra crossing and made his way up to a little café full of charm with a red front window, which seemed to record an important number of visitors at this time. Sat at a table, a young woman with curly hair and black eyes waved at him, smiling. She had a baby in a pushchair she was moving forward and backwards with her other hand, in a monotonous gesture. Her complexion was pale, and she was warmly dressed, like almost the Parisians for this season. Relieved, he joined the lady – she was the same range as him, maybe she was a few years younger, and boringly sat down to the table, mechanically adjusting his jacket while she was still looking at him always in a cheerful mood.

"Everything's fine? I ordered you a hot coffee, to warm you up. Your wife told me you like black and full-bodied Arabica. "Oh, and," she added while taking out a transparent bag filled with goodies of her handbag. "I also brought to you a bag of rose macaroons, they were…"

"They were Rebecca's favourites, I know. Thank you very much for everything, Nathalie; you really did me a favour by taking care of the little girl."

"Don't mention it, Isaac", she said, pensively putting her head in her hands. "Let's say it's in memory of the good old days. In fact, I often meet your son, Raphael, with his wife, Marie. Is everything all right, between you two?"

Isaac looked at the baby who was dozing in the pushchair worn-out by time – he already used it at the time where he had his son. A waiter, dressed in a black jacket over a white shirt, with a stained apron, brought the coffee that had been ordered, with the bill, on the table, his dark hair windswept by a gust of wind. After the small wooden banner pinned on his suit, he was called Firmin. He went to serve other customers in a somewhat panicked way, while not far away, cars and pedestrians were continuing to circulate.

"Yes, everything's fine, Nathalie, I assure you."

"Yet, you haven't seen him for a while," she objected.

"You don't really have to worry. Tell me instead what–"

"Charlotte, are you sure that your dad isn't going to ask you to help him at the constabulary?"

Isaac and Nathalie turned their heads, surprised by the conversation. A young man about twenty-five years old, with brown hair and olive eyes, was holding by the hand a woman about his age, whose eyes were dark blue turning grey, and who had short faded blond hair. She was wearing a pair of low-rise jeans and a raincoat over a white wool sweater. The sound of her boots stopped on the paved stone floor, and she adjusted her black earmuffs before lovingly wrapping her arms around her partner's neck.

"Relax, Urban, I am neither on duty nor on-call today; and if dad calls me, I won't answer. You'll have your girlfriend just for you," she announced, laughing.

"Sorry, Nathalie, I must leave you", suddenly announced Isaac, uncomfortable, continuing to look at the couple from the corner of his eye. "I still have some business to handle."

The concerned looked at him with astonishment.

"But, and what about your coffee?"

"Another time, I really have to go. Thank you again for what you did; take care of you and see you soon."

He stood up and put the amount of the orders on the table, before taking the pushchair and waving goodbye to Natalie, who waved back to him, a bit confused. He walked away from the café, as discreetly as possible, slightly turning his head to see Charlotte and Urban both sitting down to a table in a knowing look, waiting for a waiter to come and take their order. What Isaac had heard as gossip in the city was that Charlotte Vergier had passed her A levels with "upper second class Honours", and then had begun to study in order to become a police officer in turn. She had studied for five years at the political studies institution, so as to become commissioner. She had passed her exams and had finally got in couple with her childhood friend Urban, the one she particularly loved to face in a soccer match at the time. Simple friends at the beginning, they had just got engaged, which according to rumours, didn't necessarily please Charlotte's very protective father – she had stopped being called Charlie when she had gone into the higher education – Inspector Vergier, with whom she was regularly led to collaborate in various cases. Isaac absolutely did not, that the young noticed his presence. She could suspect him and make the link with the events that had happened seven years ago. Even if she had just taken him to the station for questioning without suspecting anything, _his father_ might very well have made the connection with what had happened years ago, and Isaac preferred to avoid having to suffer the slightest annoyance. He doubted that the police had seriously closed this case once and for all, it was better to let sleeping dogs lie. He saw from far away Natalie who was leaving too, while Charlotte and Urban were finally ordering, cheerfully.

Isaac took various streets, having no intention to go back home or even to back to the car right now. The baby was in the pushchair. He tried not to be seen as much as possible and panicked when he came across an old acquaintance on the pavement on the other side of the street. Dressed in warm and distinguished clothes, Elisabeth was also walking a child in a pushchair, and seemed to be radiant; the parents were surely working and she had had to take care of the infant for the day. She stopped for a moment, to see a shop window, and make sure that the baby was comfortably put; it happily waved its arms when it saw her, and tried with its little fingers to grab those of the Duchess. Isaac had at that time the crazy desire to go and say hello to her – had not they been close friends, in the past? However, he could not decide to do it, consumed by a kind of guilt. What would he have looked like, after all these years, to turn up out of the blue, from one day to the next day, after what had happened? They had been very good friends, once, but now, it could not be the case anymore. And even though Elisabeth would have forgiven him, she would have been the only one to do so. No, he could not back away. The Duchess straightened up and took the pushchair in her hands; but before leaving, she turned her face towards the direction of Isaac, who looked away immediately, praying that she did not notice anything, which indeed seemed to be the case; perhaps because a pedestrian had partly hidden her eyesight. She set off again, followed with Isaac's eye, who eventually lost her in the crowd of Parisians who were taking the street.

It hurt to see how fast time could fly.

Isaac finally decided to go back to the car, near the café. Charlotte and Urban were no longer there, and an executive and his associates engaged in some incomprehensible discussions about the stock exchange, at the table where Natalie and Isaac had met earlier. The latest walked to the car, unstrapped the baby from the pushchair, and put her in a car seat a little too big for her before he put her belt. He had to struggle against the pushchair to fold it and put it in the boot, and finally get into the car, before driving out of the car park to go home. Again, he had to put up with tailbacks, traffic lights, traffic jams… in clear, everything that was the joy of Parisian traffic. From time to time, he distractedly glanced at his wing mirrors. He sighed when the baby began to cry and decided to turn on the radio to take his mind off things. It was half past five, and on RTL, the first radio of France, it was time for "Les Grosses Têtes". The rain started to fall and Isaac mechanically put on the windscreen wipers, while the baby was crying louder and louder. At an intersection, he stopped for the traffic light was red, and a girl of fifteen took advantage of the opportunity to cross, soaked by rain. Her brown hair was bob cut and her blue eyes were twinkling with mischief. "ÉMILIE" was inscribed in coloured letters on her schoolbag. Isaac had a surprise move. This teenager was not she the one that could have allowed the encounter of…?

A chorus of horns was necessary so that he returned to reality, and he discovered that the traffic light was green. He went into first, pensive, and passed in front of his former flat, where he had lived with his wife and his son, driving until the place Henri-Mondor, where he parked in a nearby car park. He took the pushchair off the boot and he had to struggle again to be able to unfold it, before he put the infant, while drying the tears that had rolled down her cheeks. He locked the car and rolled the pushchair for a moment up to the front of a building that looked quite pleasant. He dialled the four-digit code that allowed coming inside and entered with the pushchair. The first door was the one of their flat, on the ground floor. Once inside, he put the baby who wanted to eat on the high chair, and took out a jar from a cupboard; the child quite easily agreed to eat it. He took advantage of the opportunity the latter was chewing a mouthful to take the newspaper laying on a nearby chair – he had bought it this morning but had not had time to read it – and unfold it on the table in front of him. The headlines were not outstanding; it was only about political stories and minor news item. In the obituary, he noticed that her family had the pain to inform of the death of Madame Paula, one of his former neighbours. All the stray cats that she used to feed were also really going to miss her. He finished to give food to the little girl and decided to go change her. While heading to the bathroom, he thought of how to find _it_ again. Well, no need to worry too much, everything would come in due time.

Soon, all that the people had known would completely change, and things would never be the same anymore.


End file.
